


Pants

by YourGayDads



Series: Mating Mates [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Miranda to be canonized for putting up with them, Modern AU, PWP, Rimming, horny bickering husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourGayDads/pseuds/YourGayDads
Summary: James & Thomas fuck during a party.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Series: Mating Mates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650973
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Pants

“THOMAS!”

“I’m here, I’m ready.” Thomas hopped into the foyer. He was still knotting his right sandal. 

James peered over the crate of champagne in his arms for his first gander at Thomas’s costume, which was delivered only minutes ago by his tailor. But due to a Jil Sander trench coat and a lack of time, he’d have to wait until later to see it.

“Let’s go. You’re co-hosting this _thing_ , and Miranda’s been texting nothing but knives and eggplants for the past hour.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Laurel wreath in hand, Thomas hustled out the door to the waiting taxi.

This _thing_ as James had come to call it was Miranda’s end-of-year faculty party, which started life as a simple office affair for the Greek & Latin Department. Small but not modest, it was forced off campus and relocated to Miranda’s house after the gross abuse of the department chair’s actual chair and Thomas streaking across the Quad. Always eager to share the fun, Thomas extended the invitation to more and more teachers every year and thus begat this beast of a _thing_. Upping the ante even further, Thomas established the tradition of wearing costumes that paid tribute in some way to classical studies.

James obligingly attended as the partner of the respected, sometimes scary, but endearingly weird Professor Thomas. As that guy who spends the entire party walking around with a bin bag collecting empties, Miranda was especially grateful to see James on this occasion.

“Miranda, my favorite Gorgon!” Thomas kissed both cheeks, taking care not to jostle the snakes that framed her head.

“Get your homosexual arse inside.”

“Hello, Miranda.”

“Hello, darling. A pirate again?”

James shrugged and leaned in for a kiss.

Thomas removed his trench coat with great flourish, revealing his costume to stray hoots and wolf whistles.

Too preoccupied to notice, Miranda grabbed his coat and barked, “I need buckets of ice for that champagne. Now.”

She all but shoved them down the stairs to the cellar where Thomas promptly retrieved a few wine buckets from a high shelf. James leaned back against the chest freezer with his arms crossed.

“Fucking hell, Thomas.”

“What?” Thomas’s best impersonation of innocence was somehow also his worst.

“Your costume. It’s so — _short_.”

Thomas put his hands on his hips, causing the material to inch up his thighs. “I scaled up the drawings on the vases and measured them against the statues of Ancient Greek athletes and soldiers. I actually put effort into mine unlike you and Poundland’s discount offering of a pirate costume.”

“Yeah, but weren’t they a foot shorter than you?”

“You exagge…” Thomas sighed. “I was only trying to achieve some semblance of historical accuracy.” He adjusted his laurel wreath needlessly and tugged the hem of his chiton down. 

“Oh my god. You have got to be — you’re not wearing anything underneath that, are you?”

James reached up the ruched skirt to confirm.

“ _Excuse you_.”

“Couldn’t you have at least worn pants?”

“You know I don’t wear pants. I would also question the historically accuracy of them anyway.”

“Surely they wore something.”

“Some might have.”

“What if someone _sees_?”

“Let’s be real, James, I don’t think there’s a person here who hasn’t already seen me in my full glory.”

“Christ, that’s probably true — but that doesn’t mean you still can’t offend someone by accidentally exposing yourself. Any woman here. A lesbian. Think of the lesbians, Thomas!”

“I do! Constantly! But, seriously, James, tell me who would be offended by this?” Thomas grandly swept a hand down over his body. The roll of James’s eyes only egged him on, and he began to flap the skirt about like a matador’s cape. “Are you offended by this? My dear James, must I remind you that the human wang is a beautiful thing?”

“I’m sorry, is that — is that from the Simpsons? Is Lord Hamilton quoting the Simpsons at me? And that’s the most cogent defense he can come up with? You — _teach_!” James huffed in exasperation and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “Not the point anyway.”

“But if I wore anything underneath then you couldn’t see…” Thomas turned around and threw a mischievous wink over his shoulder before drawing the costume up to reveal his left ass cheek. James looked up from the bottle. Because how could he resist looking? Even after so many years together, it was still impossible to ignore the smoothness of that skin, the firmness of the muscle, and the gentle curve of it. The dependably arousing knowledge that his ass was sized perfectly for his hands, and that his hands were currently, criminally assless.

“Thomas…” he growled, shifting focus back to Thomas’s negligence and away from his nascent hard-on.

“These darn sandals.” He bent over to reach for the straps.

“ _Thomas_.”

Thomas shot upright. “You honestly expect me to run to M&S now to buy underwear? The nearest one closes in less than an hour.”

James sighed and took a generous swig.

“Fine.” Thomas pulled James along by the hand. They weaved through the crowd up to Miranda’s bedroom on the top floor. He locked the door behind them and started rifling through a dresser drawer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Thomas held up a pair of Miranda’s underwear and stretched them taut between his thumbs to assess its possible fit. Rejecting them, he folded and placed them back in the drawer. He pulled out another pair at random, a fuller, peach-colored number with lace trim and sized it against his hips.

“Hm. These seem to have quite a bit of give.”

“Don’t you think you should ask Miranda first?”

“Please. I lent her a butt plug, she won’t care,” he muttered as he awkwardly guided his preposterously large feet into them.

“What? Wait. Which one?”

“Oh, come _on_.”

Thomas was roughly tugging at the crotch, struggling hopelessly with it. Whichever way he arranged himself, he failed to tuck himself in completely, the length of his flaccid penis more a curse than a blessing in that moment. He lifted his genitals with one hand then proceeded to violently yank the material forward from between his legs with the other. James stood by and watched, utterly, helplessly mesmerized. There was something about the sight of Thomas touching himself, however ridiculous the circumstances were, that drove him positively wild.

“I could maybe use a hand, James.”

“Huh. Yeah, yeah,” he grunted hoarsely, his mouth dry. “A hand.”

James flung his cheap, felt bicorn clear across the room and slapped the eyepatch down onto the dresser like a man out to make a point. Before Thomas could collect himself, James had him in his hold and off balance. One hand groped his chest to find a nipple, the other slotted snugly in the hot juncture where his leg met his groin. Pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, Thomas arched back into him and ground himself against the bulge in his jeans. James released Thomas’s inner thigh in order to free his cock and rub it against the warm seam of his ass.

“James — bed. Bed. _Bed_. _BED_.”

When his voice finally penetrated the thick fog of desire, James rushed him towards the bed and pushed him over onto it. He planted a hand on one buttock and kneaded the fleshiest part while his little finger prodded his hole through the satiny fabric.

“You truly are the worst, Thomas.”

“Oh, I do love it when you quote from your wedding vows.”

James toed off his shoes and guided Thomas higher up onto the bed and onto all fours. He smoothed the overtaxed material over his backside then ended the motion in a curt but hard smack to one cheek. He repeated this to the other one before making easy work of ripping the ill-fitting garment off of him.

Thomas laughed. “As if Miranda wasn’t already going to kill us.”

“We’ll take her to that fancy knickers shop in Soho.”

“Ooh, shopping date — fun! We can get an overpriced paddle for ourselves while we’re there.”

“I — “ James took a deep breath in a bid to steady himself. His brain already deprived of too much blood, he wobbled at the prospect. “Your mouth doesn’t know when to stop, does it?”

“Are you complaining about my mouth? You love my mouth.”

As his answer, James stuffed it with the torn underwear. Thomas immediately spat it out. “She keeps a million lavender sachets in with her underthings. It tastes like bloody perfume.”

“Oh, sorry.” James swiftly tossed it over his shoulder.

“I appreciate the gesture though.”

Fortunately for them, finding ways to rob Thomas of his speech was a particularly enjoyable pastime of theirs. It had proven so far to be a much easier feat in the bedroom. Or wherever the need to struck them.

James positioned himself behind Thomas and licked a line from the back of his sac up to his hole then back down again to circle his balls with his tongue. He pulled one into the cradle of his mouth and painted it with playful flicks. He let it slip from his mouth then kissed it. He spread Thomas open and massaged the puckered skin of his hole with his thumbs. He sucked at the tender skin, wetting it, intermittently blowing on it. He traced the rim with his tongue. The pointed tip swirled about in ceaseless circles until his thighs were quivering in his hands.

With Thomas rendered temporarily non-verbal, James sat back and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, watched a glistening bead of saliva glide lazily down the inside of his thigh. Thomas was beautifully flushed all over. His skin still wore the bright traces of his hand prints.

Momentarily left to his own devices, Thomas started loosely stroking himself. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on his arm. He bowed his back a bit lower and spread his legs a bit more so that James could see the show of his hand moving in a slow, hypnotic rhythm over his thick cock. He pulled at the head, smearing the fluid that dripped from the slit all over his fingers. His wedding ring glistened with it.

“Jaaaames.”

“Lube. Lube, we need — “

“Right table bottom drawer grey pouch.”

Opening it, James nearly pulled the drawer off its rails.

“You ever think you two know way too much about each other?” he asked as he fished the bottle out of the bag it shared with a bullet vibrator and a variety of condoms.

“She’s never had her tongue in my arse if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

“That is…oddly surprising.” James quickly shook the thought out of his mind. He peered into the open bag again, and another, better thought came to the fore. 

“ _Co-old!_ ” Without warning, James had pressed the length of the chrome vibrator against Thomas’s perineum. “Oh helllll…” he cried when it whirred to life.

James floated it over his balls, and up and down the shaft of his cock, rolled it repeatedly around the head before settling it against the underside of it. Thomas emitted one long, continuous groan through his gritted teeth. He was trembling, buzzing too like the toy did.

“Ah!” Thomas white-knuckled the pillow and rocked uncontrollably. The pressure was growing in size and pushed in all directions until there was no room for anything else. Breath held, he stilled, bracing himself.

James switched the vibrator off. The tense bridge of Thomas’s shoulders collapsed.

“Nnngod, oh god.” His back rose and fell at a frantic pace as he gulped lungfuls of air.

James couldn’t wait any longer and squirted a great glob of lube down Thomas’s cleft. He rubbed it in and over himself then thoughtlessly threw the open bottle aside. Per usual, he took care in entering him, but Thomas, suddenly raising himself and pressing his back against James’s chest, sank down on his cock.

“Jesus, Thomas.”

“I’m fine. Just touch me, fucking touch me,” he rasped with delicious urgency.

The hurried thrusts of his hips into Thomas drove Thomas’s cock through the slick channel James’s hand formed. Bouncing together, the whole room seemed to shake with their frenzied movements. The edges of everything began to blur. Thomas’s choked silence and the sustained clenching around him told James that he was close. He was too, the pressure crushing now, and needed immediate relief from it. He pushed up on Thomas’s waist, compelling him to lift himself, and pounded the last bit of distance to home. Thomas took himself in his hand to meet him there. 

A shout exploded from James. He was rarely loud though, and it was more air than sound. The jolt of his body propelled Thomas’s own orgasm to arc from him in a series of bursts. His semen-covered hand fell to his side like dead weight. James held him up and in place on his lap, the two of them still united by his cock. Thomas sagged against him and filled the humid space between them. Half-embracing, half-clinging to life, they waited like this until they fully regained their senses. Their labored breaths and thudding blood calmed, and the noises of the world outside that room, clinking bottles and glasses, music and laughter in every key, began to intrude on theirs.

Thomas’s head fell backwards, and their mouths joined in sloppy, drowsy kisses. He drove his hips down once more to wring one last strangled gasp of pleasure out of James.

He eased carefully out then dropped onto his back, exhausted in the way that the sated were, and Thomas onto his face with his ass in the air, having no more energy than James to adopt a more dignified pose. He eventually mustered what he did have to curl up next to him and to avoid the multiple wet patches that decorated the duvet.

“Shit. We made kind of a mess,” James mumbled with his eyes closed. A draft blew pleasantly across his sweaty hairline. “We should probably confess sooner than later.”

“Yes. She’d put two and two together anyway when she discovers the hardened stains. And the torn pair of underwear. And the vibrator. And the spilled bottle of lube.”

“We’ll be here all night cleaning. Might as well do a load of laundry. You realize though we still haven’t solved the problem of your pantslessness.”

Thomas plucked a laurel leaf out of James’s hair. “You can just give me yours.”

“Of course. Why didn’t we think of that earlier?” James pulled Thomas closer. “Do we have to…”

“Yes, we have to.”

“Yep. Let’s put our dicks away and make ourselves presentable.”

Thomas lost more leaves than he would have liked, and James’s bicorn was now more of a tricorn, but they were sure no one would be the wiser. They descended the stairs and gamely greeted acquaintances and hugged friends. Drinks were thrust into their hands. The air was pungent with the stench of weed.

“You sneaky bastards, where have you been? I need someone to hold court in the kitchen.”

“Sorry, sorry.” They lavished overlapping apologies and kisses upon Miranda and her papier-mâché serpents. 

She narrowed her eyes at them. “You two look like…smell like… Oh, for God’s sake! You were off fucking somewhere, weren’t you?” She gave Thomas an angry sniff. “ _Lavender_.”

James took her glare as his cue to scurry towards the kitchen, suddenly determined to assume his duties with less reluctance. From a safe distance, he turned around and pointed at Thomas. “It’s his fault.”

“I know,” she mouthed wearily. She turned to Thomas and gave his bottom a slap. “You’re damn lucky you’re worth all the trouble you cause.”

“Oh, so it’s that kind of party.”

“If you had your way. Wait, are you wearing — “ She leaned back and flipped the hem of his costume up.

“First time for everything.”

“Are those…James’s?”

**Author's Note:**

> my dumbass contribution to the scant lot of flintham-only smutfics here.


End file.
